


Sustenance

by suyari



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Other, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/pseuds/suyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones reflects on Jim's obsession with food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sustenance

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't tag this as any particular pairing, because I think it can be seen any way you ship. Feel free to consider it to cater to your ship. I think the relationships in this can be viewed as equally romantic and platonic, depending on your personal views and experiences.

For all the years he'd been a doctor - of _humans_ even - it had taken Leonard an awful long time to recognize the symptoms in his friend. Perhaps it was _because_ Jim was his friend. Perhaps it was because in no short order, after a chance meeting on a shuttle, and an even chancier collision in the first year residential hall, Jim Kirk easily became the axis about which his life turned. If asked, he'd never have admitted to such a romanticism. He'd grimace and openly state that he had no use for people in his life. Especially a hot shot know it all with an ego the size of a moon and a frankly alarming propensity for attracting trouble which generally ended necessitating medical care of various, and often inventive sorts. Jim certainly kept him on his toes. Which was perhaps the entire reason they'd survived so long, so well together.

It was the little things, in hindsight, that he'd apparently glossed right over. Or been charmed right out of. Jim could be _very_ distracting on average. When he actually _tried_...Hell, there were constitutions easier to recall than the reasons you'd ever agreed to go along with any of his hair brained schemes. Let alone been duped into repeating them. So, he'd chock it up to a good, strong mixture of Jim's innate ability, copious amounts of carefully and expertly applied Kirk charm, and the loneliness that could choke a man when outside his general gravitational pull.

Little things like how he refused to ever clean out the fridge.

"Jim, you're worse than Jo, and she at least knows that something growing fur and nearly sentient needs to meet with the recycler."

"It's still good, Bones!"

"It's _six months_ expired!" He waved the offending tub at his roommate. "At this point, it's more of a science project. There is no way in hell you're putting this in your body!"

"Oh come on, Bones." He flashed a carefree grin, hips sliding into what Bones liked to call his 'hear me out' pose. It was about a three on Jim's seduction scale. And while Jim was likely mostly unaware he had levels that he scrupulously applied at any given time, he was bright enough - and good enough at body language - to know it had _some_ effect. "Scrape a little off the top and-"

"NO!" He dropped the entire thing in the recycler, seeing Jim's aborted motion toward him peripherally. "Doctor's orders."

Jim crossed his arms, weight shifting so one hip was slightly pushed more forward than the other. The body was Bones' profession, and it was about the only thing that spoke to him anymore. It was probably creepy that he spent so much time cataloging, but he was sure it would all come in handy one day. And it wasn't as if he did it on purpose. Jim - because he was always in close proximity - was most often his focus. Not that he minded. Not that he should. Looking the way he did...Okay, maybe it was a _little_ creepy, and probably somewhat disrespectful. But Jim never made him feel like his focus or attention was unwelcome, and Bones found he preferred Jim's easy acceptance to trying with anyone else.

His best friend was annoyed, though he was distinctly aware it was not with him. And when Jim got pensive, Bones got uncomfortable. There was something about the way all that radiance shut down like a star suddenly disappearing from the sky. And as illogical as it was - he knew better after all - every time it happened he'd develop a pit in his stomach as if Jim was in fact a long dead star whose light would one day fade forever from view. And that...was just not a reality Bones was comfortable with. Wasn't something he'd _ever_ be comfortable with, not for a moment.

Which was why he smiled and crossed the room, clasping Jim on the shoulder. "Come on, let's put something really nutritious in you. I'm buying."

"Can I at least have red meat?"

"Of course you can! I want you healthy, not tortured!"

The light suddenly returned. The ethereal glow rising to the surface again and making Jim's eyes so blue, Bones wouldn't have minded at all falling into them and drowning. Jim had that effect on a lot of people.

Little things, like how dedicated Jim was to keeping a stocked pantry, even on their budget and with three square meals and two issued snack designations a day from Starfleet. Bones didn't mind. There were plenty of times in between classes and exams, late nights and early mornings, and the grey of in between that melted all together until you thought it was Thursday on a Saturday. It was convenient, it encouraged them to stay where they were, which helped cultivate their working cohabitation, and if he were being honest, even food from a can tasted better than replicated food. There were just some things that got left out in all the equations that made replicated food taste...well, like copies.

Jim liked to quote his Iowa heritage as reason enough to want real food. And Bones, who'd been raised in the warm, rich, and plentiful culture of the south did not disagree with him at all. So they often ate in their room. Food warmed, or straight from the container, and sharing the couch. They ended up talking about everything and nothing and it never grew tiring. In fact, the more Bones learned about Jim, the more he _wanted_ to know.

Jim quickly became an old friend, though their time together was relatively short. It was as if they'd known each other their entire lives. Grown up in the same town, or old family friends, seeing each other over and over throughout the years. With comfort and familiarity, came the ease and emotional security of knowing someone so intimately. There wasn't a thing they could do to surprise one another after a while, and for better or for worse, that simple acceptance shaped their every decision.

Little things, like how excited Jim got when he walked into a grocery store. Or through a farmer's market. Or into a bakery. Or a restaurant. If there was food to be bought, no matter where they were - at a sporting event, the theater, a fair - Jim would buy some. In fact, Jim himself was often referred to as 'the grocer' in fond company. It didn't matter where you were or what was going on around you, if you got hungry and mentioned it, Jim would whip out seven different options and offer them all to you with such enthusiasm it was impossible to refuse. Bones wasn't sure how he managed to keep so stocked, but it had never struck him as odd. It was reassuring in a way. It showed a certain preparedness and was actual evidence that Jim was entirely capable of forethought. Which lent hope to the fact that one day, maturity would settle in him. Somewhere. If he had to wait their entire lives, Bones was certain it'd affix itself to Jim eventually. 

Little things, like how Jim never left a scrap on his plate.

At first, Bones hadn't even noticed. He was a doctor and he'd been raised with the mentality that social graces included finishing the food on your plate, even if you didn't like it. So, it had never registered - even with all his training - that Jim didn't simply eat everything that was offered to him. He _consumed_ it.

Given Jim had manners, and used them fairly often, it wasn't something to be readily noticed. Jim didn't wolf down his food. He didn't eat hastily or with any sort of possessiveness. If you wanted something on his plate, without verbal or written agreement, it was yours. In fact, Jim was almost too generous at times. However, while he ate at a measured, casual pace, there was often very little evidence left on his plate that food had once rested there. Jim would eat down to the bone, and sometimes straight through. Leaving only hollow chips of bone against his plate. He'd casually, and discretely, pick up any morsels that may have fallen onto the table and dump them back into his plate or put them straight into his mouth. Any hint of sauce or gravy was dutifully, diligently moped up with bread or any moderately absorbent piece of food. And the bread basket was always empty when a group he was with left the table.

In fact, it was Gary Mitchell, who first noticed and brought it to Bones' attention. It was a casual, offhand comment, meant entirely in jest. Warm and affectionate, it had the opposite effect. And while Jim brushed it off with effortless nonchalance, it was glaringly obvious to his best friend that something within him was deeply affected. It wasn't quite embarrassment. It wasn't exactly shame. It definitely wasn't anger or offense. It was a murkier, less effectively pinned down emotion. Something foreign that gave more credence to the gnawing disquiet. 

It didn't last. Jim's moods rarely did. But it did make Bones take a step back and re-evaluate. Sometimes, it was possible for a doctor to become too involved with a patient. There were _reasons_ doctors weren't allowed to operate on family members and close friends. He needed to remain objective, but that was difficult when Jim was, well, Jim.

He did begin to notice patterns, however.

Whenever they ordered take out, Jim would charm their server to ply whatever he could finagle out of them. Extra sauce, more toppings, fresher ingredients. He had a knack for it. As if banking on his sexuality to procure whatever provisions he required was a well honed skill.

He had sterile individual containers at the ready at any given moment. Fully capable of providing his own means of doggy bagging when it was not an option. His fingers nimbly swept over ingredient bins with astounding ease and efficiency. Insuring that whatever the occasion or mood that struck them, they could properly dress their food to sate their whims. There were pockets in his bag designated specifically for food concealment. Pockets that, for all their professional look, were clearly not in the original design. Which Bones knew, because all Academy bags were standard issue.

It took him a while to build up to asking. Unsure of how to go about broaching such a sensitive subject. When he finally managed, it didn't go as badly as he thought. Jim was open and honest and Bones listened quietly, careful to keep the neutral, professional face they both required to make it through the difficult discussion of abuse and neglect. Afterward, he'd gotten up, offered Jim a hand up - more relieved than he would ever admit when Jim took it and allowed him to help him to his feet - and took him out for fattening desert. Of which he'd let Jim indulge to his heart's content before allowing them to fall back into routine the next morning. 

It had stopped being an issue after that. Just another thing that was between them, another part of Jim he accepted. Even if he wanted to go find the man and at the very least break his nose, he hadn't broken Jim entirely. Had in fact - God only knew how - had a hand in shaping the generous, kind and accepting individual that had breezed into Bones' life with all the simplistic ease of a perfect summer's day.

Still...there were things about Jim that he remained on the fence about. Little things, like the fact that despite the intensiveness of command track, and Bones' own hectic schedule, Jim always made sure they both ate. Half the time, Bones was hardly aware of it. Jim had a wonderfully powerful ability to slip in and out of a room unnoticed when he chose. Plates of food would appear and disappear as if by magic. He never had to think about it, just reach out and there would be something to munch on. He never went hungry. And while it perhaps should have been his own focus as the doctor between them, Jim was so very efficient that it barely ever occurred to Bones that he should question it in the first place. It was just another markedly sweet and endearing aspect of James T. Kirk. Something that made Jim just that much more capable than others. The type of small considerations that made a leader. The types of small considerations Jim had in _droves_.

It was little things, like the way Jim always managed to have - and be completely unselfconscious about - an extra five pounds or so. Starfleet wasn't overly anal retentive about their weight classing - it was difficult to be with so many species serving together - but they did have some standards. Bones often argued a pound here or there when Jim got too close to flouting one.

"I'm not saying you're over weight, Jim. I'm saying that you might want to keep an eye on it before they haul me in over it. I don't really want to have a chat about your curves with anyone, thank you very much." He stretched, flexing his toes against the coffee table. "Not that they aren't perfectly acceptable curves-" A pillow hit him square in the face.

"I can lose them easily enough when I need to," Jim had replied, dropping into the couch beside him with a large sandwich.

"You can start by cutting back on mayonnaise."

"Not on your life, puritan."

Jim never exactly got defensive. But he always managed to bring the conversation back around so that the issue was largely dropped. It wasn't as if the few extra pounds ever caused Jim any physical issues. His "reserves" as he liked to call them, barely even detracted from his attractiveness. While his fellow cadets fought to outclass one another in physical size and weight manipulation, Jim seemed to scoff at being so physically fit as to have a ridiculously low amount of body fat.

They'd gotten into more than one conversation about it over the years. As a medical professional, and a person, Bones found Jim's arguments reasonably sound. In space, one never knew what they were going up against. There could as easily be a comfort issue on a hostile planet as much as the chance of a food shortage due to ship damage. A few extra pounds could make all the difference in crew survival. Jim's arguments were so compelling in fact, that Bones wrote a paper on it and received an official commendation, as well as a promotion. Jim had been so pleased, he'd practically been smug.

By the time Jim was actually in command of a ship, Bones was not at all surprised that one of his main focuses was food procurement. Nor was anyone who knew Jim well. Citing Bones' paper, Jim had used all the charm and skill he possessed to ensure that if nothing else, the Enterprise was fully stocked with as much food as it was capable of carrying. He'd done such a good job, that once every seven standard days, every meal available for all shifts was fresh. Not only did it boost crew morale, it was also exceptionally handy in negotiations. Even Spock hadn't argued after Jim had laid out his case. After a while, the Enterprise became as much a trade ship as it was exploratory. At every refit, Jim wheedled more and more food storage and hydroponic space out of Scotty and the team. People were so happy with the incredibly thoughtful actions of the captain that they did their best to accommodate him. For his part, Jim was exceptionally grateful and praising for every last inch they managed to squeeze out for him each time.

When Bones had become CMO, he'd immediately been granted access to all crew files. Once they were out of immediate, harrowing danger, or during his free time when he should otherwise be sleeping, Doctor Leonard McCoy devoted himself to studying each one. He liked to know his patients on every level. And while that was difficult with so many crew aboard, he did his best to at least be passingly familiar. Of course the files of those directly within his care were committed to memory. Not that Bones needed more than Jim to keep him busy.

He'd noted that Jim's file was heavily redacted, with entire portions sealed off. As he was aware of the circumstances of Jim's early life, he wasn't concerned about it. He knew what was under all those blocks and security walls. He was aware of why they'd be closed so completely for someone as high profile as Jim. And as he was _constantly_ adding to them, he figured, Jim's adult file was a _much_ more interesting read. No one would even notice that more than half his life was blotted out from public record.

It wasn't until the Khan fiasco that he found himself having to fight for the release. While he was aware of what Jim had been through, he needed to be _absolutely_ sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that the treatment he would be administering wouldn't affect Jim negatively in any way. The only way to do that was to browse the scribbles of the good doctors who came before him. And hope like hell they kept good records.

He hadn't been expecting Starfleet to put up such a fight. Hadn't expected to have about a dozen regulations and laws rattled off at him. Couldn't have predicted that in death, Jim would accomplish something he could no longer accomplish in life: surprising him.

By the time he finished signing papers in a rage, effectively gagging himself for the duration of his life on pain of every horrible thing Starfleet could rain down on him, and finally received the opened files he'd nearly passed right by it. So busy flicking through what he expected - bruises, breaks, one too many falls - what he hadn't been expecting to find slipped by almost unnoticed. If not for the many, many seals and signatures, he would never have gone back a page. Whether or not he could have lived with himself if that had occurred, he'd never be able to decide.

In a horribly sterile print, this portion of Jim's file was filled out in all manner of official Starfleet forms and procedure. At the corner of every page in bold - as if one would never be able to guess, when actually _reading_ through the material - was the event subheader: **Tarsus IV**.

He managed to make it through the basics quickly enough to determine that the procedure would be safe for Jim before locking up his PADD and going to tend to Jim.

It wasn't until _after_ \- once Jim's organs were climbing back toward functionality - that he retrieved his PADD and forced himself to read through the entire thing. He found that even extensive medical training and field experience hadn't kept him from being violently sick.

He'd studied Tarsus IV. They all had, even Jim - and he hadn't shown a single sign that it bothered him that Bones could recall. Though, if he thought about it enough, there had been plenty of little things. There always were with Jim. It was horrific enough reading about it. But Jim's file was chock full of data. Videos, photographs, pertinent eyewitness accounts...Seeing anyone that way would have nauseated him. But, seeing _Jim_ that way broke his heart. Knowing that he was one tragic event away from never meeting him caused all kinds of internal havoc. Until he'd had to quietly put himself on leave; handing over all his cases and remaining with Jim, where he belonged.

The radiation poisoning hadn't helped. It had hollowed Jim out as his body and the serum had battled to keep Jim from going into permanent full organ failure. The struggle was intense and it was made all the worse by the haunting images that would never, ever leave Bones' recollection, even if he got old and forgot everything else. Knowing how badly Jim could look given the worst set of variables imaginable, both plagued Bones and gave him hope.

Throughout it all, was the stubborn determination to be close enough to have the moment engraved into his soul should anything go south in Jim's condition. He would not be looking at the sky for years, admiring the light of a long dead sun. He would go blind and cold and extinct right here in its presence. 

The slow, agonizing process nearly burned him out himself. He only ever felt comfortable leaving the room when Spock was present. Knowing that if no one else, at least Spock shared his determination to see those blue eyes once again. That impossibly bright smile. Bones couldn't be sure, but Spock seemed almost as haunted. Having been the one staring into those eyes when the light left them, Bones hurt for him as much as he both envied him and was grateful it hadn't been him. Spock had lost it and nearly broken every bone in Khan's torso as well as his face, retrieving him. Bones recalled quite clearly the way the Vulcan had swept into the medbay, like a lethal, ferocious and very angry predator, Khan hanging limply over one shoulder. He'd dropped him unceremoniously on a biobed, though Bones suspected he'd have not been objectionable to simply tossing the man to the floor, and stepped back, a wild look in his eyes.

He'd let Bones - and Bones alone - close enough to approach him, watching as Khan's blood was extracted before removing himself and stationing himself by the captain's cryotube. Even flanked by half of the security team still left capable, Bones didn't breathe out in any sort of reassurance until someone who loved - or at least cared for - Jim as much as he did was in between Jim's body and anything else that might come into it's path. He found himself able to focus completely on his task and even to leave the room while Spock protected Jim in his stead.

Those two weeks waiting on Jim to wake up would be the longest of his life, unless Jim went and pulled another idiotic stunt like that again. At least Bones was assured an ally in Spock against another such incident. As much as he never would have believed he and the hobgoblin could have anything in common, leave it to Jim to toss all that out of an airlock and leave it in his wake.

When Jim finally did wake, they were thankfully both present. Having been in quiet conversation. The Enterprise was being refit again and they both had several ideas they wished to implement immediately. Unsurprisingly, given the tenuous nature of their converted relationship, they did not disagree about a single thing. It was easy not to, when they both had Jim's safety, and continued existence at the forefront of their minds. 

They both allowed themselves to bask in him for a long while. And while Bones and Jim easily fell into the comfort of their routine, the ease of their relationship, there was a new, complicated angle to Jim and Spock's that both seemed somewhat at a loss for navigating.

Bones decided to have pity on them and set things back on proper course.

"Bones...I haven't even misbehaved yet," Jim rasped, eying the hypo he was fitting.

"It's you Jim. It's only a matter of time."

"Spock, don't let him hypo me." It was fond and teasing, but plaintive enough that the Vulcan tensed slightly in readiness.

Bones held up both hands where Spock could see them in a placating manner and the acting captain of the Enterprise took a deep breath and relaxed minutely enough that Bones felt comfortable putting his hands back down. Thankfully, he'd set the hypo down prior to it or things might have gone a little south before any of them realized there was tension.

Jim, with the effortless ease that was so integral to his character it may as well be trademarked, sighed heavily, bringing all eyes back to him. Bones recognized his own body's response to Jim's return. Tension spiraling into nothing and eclipsed in joy so bright it made him dizzy. Spock's body drained almost as quickly. "Are you in need of rest, captain?"

"I just slept a few weeks, I'm good."

"Jim, I am sure Doctor McCoy will agree with me that a coma-"

"It's fine, Spock." His voice lowered, well into 'I'll be having my way now' sultry that seemed to work just as well on the Vulcan as anyone else, Bones was happy to note. "I'll be fine."

The way he said it eased a heavy burden in Bones' chest and he noisily tapped the hypo's vial against the tabletop, to help resettle them all. "You better be," he commented, voice a little more desperate than he would have liked. Jim's eyes turned to him, softening. "If you ever want to eat another steak."

The corner of his mouth curved up in a familiar, but not quite back to full power tug of a smile. "Aww, Bones...you're not going to feed me hospital mash, are you?" He batted his eyelashes as best he could, which was somewhat amusing, given the tired drag and sweep along his cheekbones. He may have been unconscious for weeks, but Spock was right - and there it was, no turning back now - unconsciousness was not sleep. Sleep would help more than the coma could ever hope to. Sleep, the last vestiges of Khan's regenerative cells and...

"Tell you what. You choke down enough to have solid bowel movements and I'll let you have red meat."

Jim laughed, the sound dry, before he began to choke.

Spock drew him up quick, steady, and remarkably tender, and supporting his weight, began patting his back.

Bones was already scanning him, one hand on his wrist, fingers counting his pulse. He needed the very real flutter of Jim's heartbeat to convince him that everything his instruments told him was true.

"I can't...believe you...said that!" he gasped, arms limp in his lap. But it was there. The smile. And like the dawning of the sun, it warmed the very air about them.

"And I'm not kidding! You can have real food when you can prove to me you can have real food without tearing something."

"Two days!"

"Six."

"Two and a half."

"Jim," Spock interjected.

"Fine, fine. Three."

"We'll see," Bones replied, but he already knew it didn't matter. When Jim said he would do something, he would. In the exact time frame or less. Even with all his years of practice behind him, Bones knew better than to doubt James Tiberius Kirk.

"For now," he continued, as Spock eased Jim back into the pillows and covered him up with more care than was frankly warranted - Jim wasn't likely to break anytime soon, but Bones knew the feeling. "Even hospital mash will be better than intravenous. Gonna pull your stomach a bit. Might be cramping, bloating, discomfort..."

"Nothing I can't handle," Jim replied without a hint that he did in fact know and was not making a flippant remark.

"I'll make sure it's sweet at least."

"Thanks, Bones."

"Anything for you, Jim," he replied in a rare moment of raw emotion.

"Love you too."

"If you're going to get _emotional_ on me..." But he leaned in and drew Jim into his arms, careful not to crush him. "You ever, _ever_ do that to us again, the next time I bring you back the stay won't be nearly as comfortable."

"Not in my immediate plans for the future," Jim promised.

He set him back down, allowing Spock to smooth out the non-threatening wrinkles in the bedsheets to settle himself. "I'll go see to that then! In the mean time, why don't you update Jim on our plans, Spock?"

Spock blinked at him and opened his mouth as if to argue, then seemed to - miraculously - understand. "Jim, it will please you to note that the Doctor and I, with the help of Lieutenant commander Scott, have drafted quite accommodating plans for the Enterprise's current refit. The food storage has been increased by..."

It was the little things, Bones thought, as he wandered out to see to Jim's first - heavily liquid - meal, leaving him in the more than capable hands of his First Officer. Experiences changed individuals in vast, unpredictable ways. But when it came right down to it, it was the little things about a person that really cinched it.

The sound of their laughter, so affecting, even Vulcans were not left untouched. A smile that could leave a thousand distinct impressions. Bright blue eyes that radiated the easy, all encompassing affection of a selfless, giving heart. The extra five pounds that made everyone more comfortable about themselves. The unflinching support in the set of capable shoulders. The spray of gold against the curve of a captain's chair.

Jim may never fully recover from his time on Tarsus IV. And while, if given chance or choice, Bones would give anything to have spared him that hurt. The mark Tarsus IV left on Jim was more than a simple preoccupation with provision. Tarsus IV had, in it's most brutal way, taken the seed of a child and bore a sturdy, sheltering tree of a man. One with plenty of room to grow and further its branches, taking into it's shelter any and all who found themselves in need. Jim had become the very thing that had been denied to him. Sustenance.


End file.
